


Determination

by royaltyjunk



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Running Away, also spoilers for just. primrose's entire story so, you will never stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 21:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16794880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyjunk/pseuds/royaltyjunk
Summary: [AU] Reputation always meant something to them, until suddenly it didn't.





	Determination

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Ideas: This idea wouldn’t leave me alone so here we are folks  
> This entire fic is based off my big headcanon that Cyrus is a noble (probably from one of those houses that fell from glory during Azelhart’s big tyranny thing) and his family used to own the manse that Orlick owns modern-Octopath
> 
> Anyways this fic was also written pretty differently from my previous fics (a result of me just trying out new styles) so let me know if you guys like it

Primrose Azelhart was twenty three and a half when her father officially betrothed her to Simeon Corvus.

It had been a long time coming. Their courtship had lasted near four years, and had been one of peace and joy. There was nothing but good word to spread about their courtship and subsequent engagement.

“Congratulations, my lady!” Women and men said when she went to the marketplace the next day. She smiled and thanked them.

Others, still, praised her father for making such a wise decision. It was not hard to understand where their praise had come from.

Simeon Corvus had made quite a name for himself in Orsterra. Leader of the vigilante group the Obsidians, he had come into the noble world under the hire of Geoffrey Azelhart. Ever since, he had stayed a constant and influential presence, so much so that Geoffrey Azelhart had allowed Simeon to be his daughter’s first official suitor.

It turned out, he would also be her last.

Primrose had never seen Simeon Corvus in his entirety before. She had met him in the garden, and then in the main hall of her family’s manor. That was the first time Primrose had known him as Lord Corvus, and not Simeon the gardener, who wished to woo her with gentle poems told under the soft light of the moon.

She loved him, she repeated in her head like a mantra, every part of him. She loved Simeon. She loved Lord Corvus. She loved Simeon Corvus.

“I love you,” she said, and Simeon smiled back.

“And I you, my love,”

So she repeated those words to herself, repeated them to him. Everytime, he gave her a small smile and a warm response of reciprocation.

A week later, noblemen and women of almost every house and affiliation flocked the Azelhart mansion in a lavish celebration of Primrose and Simeon’s engagement. Although she herself had spent an innumerable amount of hours preparing the manor alongside her father and Simeon, she could barely recognize it.

The main hall had been cleared of all furniture, leaving only the grand piano which a quintet had taken full use of, producing music that brought her back to the old wishes of her childhood; when she did not know better than to wish she could become a dancer. Servants hurried about with trays of wine and refreshments which the cooks had spent all day making.

She wore a silken red dress that night. Simeon insisted she do so.

“It will look wonderful with your ring and hairpiece,” he had said. She had turned her gaze to her hand. A circle-cut ruby ring stared back at her, refracting light in varying shades of red.

She loved him, and so she did as he requested. She curled her hair and held it up with the hairpiece Simeon had given her years ago. She dusted her cheeks with rouge blush and tinted her eyes with a soft crimson shadow.

“You look beautiful,” he said when she emerged from her dressing room, and she gave him a smile.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Come, my love. Today is a day of celebration for us.”

“...Yes.” She accepted his hand and let him lead her down the stairs and into the main hall. The din that had slowly begun to rise over the manor immediately rose to a clamor, and the crowd swarmed them. She lost track of the hours she spent greeting and thanking other nobles.

It was a grueling time, but she was a noblewoman. She had been trained for such occasions her entire life, and it would stay this way. An unsettling thought, but it was softened by the thought of her loved one by her side.

“My love?”

She started at Simeon’s voice, shaking her head. “My apologies,” she said, looking at him.

“There is no need for that, my love. I simply thought you might want to meet one of your friends.” Saying that, he beckoned someone forth.

Her heart soared at the sight of the man stepping out from the crowd. Although Simeon had been her companion throughout most of her childhood, she had always had another good friend.

“Lord Cyrus!” Primrose greeted joyfully, curtsying to him. He bowed back.

“It is an honor to see you again, Lady Primrose. My congratulations on your engagement.”

“Likewise, I do not believe I have congratulated you on your new position as royal consort to the princess.”

“I am simply to be her husband and advisor. There is nothing to be so awed about.” He laughed.

“Do not humble yourself,” Simeon chimed in. “It is an invaluable position to hold. You will do well, Lord Albright. I know it.”

“As do I,” Primrose agreed. Cyrus bowed.

“I am honored you place such faith in me.”

“But of course.” Simeon smiled before turning to look at Primrose. “I must go greet Rufus and Albus.”

“I will be right here when you come back,” she replied, and let him kiss her hand before he left. Smoothing out her dress, she lifted her head. “How has Atlasdam treated you, Lord Cyrus?”

“Wonderfully,” Cyrus answered, his smile warm, “but I do miss our hometown of Noblecourt.”

“You are welcome back anytime. After all, we have been keeping the Albright manor for you.”

“Yes, I am aware,” he stated laughingly. “My thanks, Lady Primrose.”

“It is no trouble.” She shook her head. “Everyone speaks so fondly of you. Even my father comments that he wishes he had the cool-headed Albright heir back in his court.”

At that Cyrus burst into laughter again and caused her to start laughing alongside him, a bubbly feeling welling in her heart.

“I have never heard my father speak so flatteringly of anyone before,” Primrose continued.

“Well, it is a great honor.” His eyes twinkled. She could not help but feel a flare of affection in her own heart, but she pushed it down as soon as it surfaced.

“Simeon and my father actually requested a gift be made for you.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. I’m sure they will find you and present it to you sometime tonight. If they do not, please, tell me.”

“Of course. To tell the truth, I, too, was not supposed to prepare you a gift, but I did so anyways.” From the pocket of his suit, he produced an envelope, sealed with the wax seal of House Albright. “Consider it House Albright’s engagement gift to you.”

Primrose accepted with stunned hands as Cyrus continued to speak.

“Lord Corvus has informed me of your shared interest in poetry with him, and so I tried my hand at it.”

“Truly, Lord Cyrus, you have outdone yourself.” She curtsied deeply, and he bowed back.

“I can only hope you will enjoy it.”

~ / . / . / ~

Over the years, Simeon had written her a number of poems.

It had started ten years ago when, haunted by some dark nightmare of her father’s death to Simeon’s hands, Primrose had sought comfort in him. He, in turn, used the eloquence and skill he had in the pen to write her a short poem that lulled her to sleep through all her fears.

Ever since that incident, he would not go a single week without writing another poem. Whether for her or for his own enjoyment he did not seem to care, as he continually gifted them to her. It had become a hobby of hers, she supposed, to read his poetry when she became bored or could not find spirit within herself to do anything.

He viewed it as a sign of affection. She supposed it was. His poetry did not bring a flush to her cheeks, nor did it warm her heart as so many noblewoman cooed their husband’s writings did, but it was pleasant.

And so it came to her as a great surprise when she found the poem Lord Albright had sent her and Simeon as their wedding gift to be a grand masterpiece. Words and phrases, all woven together in an elegant and stunning manner that drew Primrose in and made her wish dearly there was more to the poem when she came to the end of the parchment.

“Simeon, might I write a letter to Lord Albright?”

He blinked before tilting his head. “What for?”

“Simply to say a thank you. This poem he has written… it is amazing, Simeon. I must thank him. I cannot imagine how much time he has put into this piece of writing.”

He stared at her, his gaze long and hard, before nodding slowly. Thanking him hastily, she took two sheets of parchment from his desk and left his room. She did not miss his clenched jaw or his tight fists.

The observation, however, slipped her mind as soon as she began to write, her mind filled with the words Cyrus had woven her. The letter ended upon the last inch of the second piece of parchment, and with gentle hands she folded the pages and handed it to a handmaid.

Four days later, Simeon handed her an envelope. “It is from Lord Albright,” he supplied. Primrose’s breath hitched in her throat, and she took it with a grateful nod.

It slowly began a routine that Primrose became fond of. Every few days, she would receive a letter—frequently from a handmaid whom had received it from Simeon—and find, within each of them, another handwritten letter rich with greetings and poetry. In response, she would answer with discussions of current events and sentences of prose she had once written when she was young and aspired, for a short time, to be a writer as Simeon was.

It was a gentle reminder of the friend she had. He may have been a three days’ journey away, but the Lord Cyrus of her childhood still remained.

Weeks later, she received the most recent letter from Simeon directly.

“Love,” he began, “why have you begun such frequent correspondence with Lord Albright?”

She blinked, clutching the new letter to her chest as she looked up, meeting his gaze. “We are… discussing. Events and the like.”

“It has been months, my love, and every week I open my letterbox to find a… pile of letters from Lord Albright, all addressed to you. Tell me, why is it so?”

Primrose frowned. “I… I simply wished to speak with a friend. Is there harm in that?”

“When you say it that way, there is not. But,” he said, shaking his head, “I do not like this… frequent correspondence.”

“There is nothing going on between us, Simeon,” she responded, an uncomfortable feeling welling in her heart. Forcing herself to swallow it, she extended the letter she held. “If you are so very doubtful, you may read the letters we exchange.”

“It is not what you speak of that I am care about, my love.”

“Then what do you care about?” She snapped.

“I care about you! This could be the ploy of an enemy!”

“We may be nobles now but we were friends when we were children, Simeon! You knew Lord Cyrus! Do you not care for the bonds formed in our childhood!?”

“That does not matter!” His tone was harsh and cold. “You are no longer children! I did not fall in love with a woman of a child’s mind, neither did I court one! Forget these childish wishes, my love. You have responsibilities, as does he, and you cannot carelessly trust—”

“Do you not correspond with Lord Rufus and Lord Albus almost every week as well?” She interrupted angrily.

“That is for official business. Platitudes will not save you in an attempt on your life or a betrayal, love. Old friends always change.” Saying that, he laid his hand on hers.

“But I have known Lord Cyrus for years now, and he has not changed!” Primrose pulled her hand from his grasp and glared up at him. “Not everyone is plotting the downfall of House Azelhart, Simeon!”

“I will not argue with you any further. All I want is that this… correspondence with Lord Albright stop. Immediately.”

She stared up at him, her face blanched. “...Do you distrust me so?” She asked weakly.

“It is not so. It is simply him that I distrust. Stay away from him. Do not speak or write to him. Do you understand, Primrose?”

He never called her Primrose. She shut her mouth and nodded meekly.

~ / . / . / ~

She stayed in the mansion while the carriages approached. Simeon went out in her place with her father, and they greeted their guest. It took every fiber of her being to stop herself from following them out. A noblewoman would not do such a thing, she reminded herself. She had to act as a noblewoman would.

So she waited until he came into the main hall, led by Simeon and her father, before curtsying to him.

“Welcome to our humble estate, my lord.”

“It is good to be back,” Cyrus responded, bowing.

“I pray that you enjoy your time here, then.” Primrose smiled. Simeon laid his hand on her shoulder.

“Will you be joining us in the councilroom today, my love?”

She nodded, and Simeon smiled before looking back at Cyrus “Come, my lord. I shall show you to your room.”

They left the main hall, idle chatter filling the hallway they followed. She stared after them.

“Primrose,” her father prompted, and she started before shaking her head.

“My apologies, Father,” she murmured, bowing her head.

“It is alright.” He smiled, hugging her gently. “Now is a stressful time for you, but it will soon be over.”

“Thank you, Father,” she responded, a smile upon her lips as she hugged him back.

Yes, she mused, he was right. Her father was always right.

And so the day continued onward, her father’s words spurring her forward. She hoped, wished, prayed that Simeon would learn that the only connection between her and Cyrus was friendship—there were no plans of betrayal or affairs.

She closed the door behind her as she left her room. Dinner had been prepared for them; a hefty feast in celebration of Cyrus’s arrival. Simeon was waiting for her outside, and smiled.

“You look beautiful, as always.”

Flattery. Null, void, meaningless flattery. She forced herself to smile and thank him. He leaned in.

“Do not forget what I said about Lord Cyrus,” he whispered as he kissed her cheek. She resisted the urge to curl her hands into fists and simply nodded. Simeon smiled and led her out to the dining room.

She sat quietly at the dinner table, chiming in softly whenever she felt it necessary and picking at her food when she did not need to speak. Her father did a large amount of the talking—he had always had a liking towards Cyrus.

After dinner came drinks; meticulously-created wine from the plantations of Wispermill, served in tall crystal glasses.

“A gift, from a friend,” Simeon responded when asked where he had received such a delicacy.

“Truly, Lord Corvus,” Cyrus responded, “you must stop hiding such wonderful wine from the world!”

Simeon laughed, and Primrose forced herself to laugh along. “He will not even tell me where he gets it!” She piped up.

“For shame, Simeon!” Her father scolded mockingly, and they all laughed.

By the time they finished, two bottles of wine lay finished between all of them and Cyrus had already excused himself to the library. All of them knew of his passion for studying, and so none of them found a need or reason to stop him.

“You ought to hurry to bed as well, Primrose,” her father said, and she nodded.

“I shall. Pray, do not stay up so late tonight.”

“We will not,” Simeon promised, and her father echoed it. She stood and left the table, leaving them to whisper and murmur about whatever it was they were mumbling about and hissing about.

She made her way down the hallway towards her room, nodding to the servants and insisting they sleep.

“Master Forsythe.” She paused as she greeted the man in the hallway. He bowed to her.

“Lady Primrose.”

“Are you on the night guard tonight?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I see. Thank you for your hard work.”

“Tis all for your sake, my lady, and for Lord Geoffrey’s sake. You need not thank me. Your safety is enough.”

Still, she thanked him once more before continuing down the hallway. There was a dim glow coming from the library; most likely a single flame offered by a small candle. Cyrus never did know how to keep his eyesight from getting worse.

Sighing, she glanced inside before making her way towards the single light source in the large room. Her heart caught in her throat as soon as he came into view.

He sat, illuminated by the dim candlelight, with numerous opened books laid upon the desk at which he sat, his hair tousled from the habit he had of running his hand through it. He glanced up for a second at the sound of approaching footsteps, offering her a radiant smile that made the candlelight pale in comparison before casting his gaze down and speaking.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening to you as well,” she murmured, her voice soft. She could barely hear it over the deafening sound of her heartbeat.

“It feels as though I have not spoken to you for quite some time, despite our time together at the dinner table. Your letters stopped coming in. Have you been busy?”

“No, it is not so.” She shook her head before reconsidering. “Well, I suppose so. Simeon…” She trailed off, not sure of her own intentions to either tell the truth or hide it. “My apologies.”

“I see. There is no need to apologize. We have duties after all.”

Primrose curtsied to him before the air between them could grow awkward. “I should be going now. Do try to sleep before the turn of the day.”

“I shall try my best. May you sleep well, Lady Primrose.”

“You as well, Lord Albright.”

In the dim light of the candle’s flame, she saw his eyebrows flick upwards at the formality of his name on her lips, but he didn't turn his eyes away from the text in front of him. She turned away, slowly making her way toward the exit.

Simeon took her hand when she found him waiting outside her room and she lied when he asked where she had been. She let him kiss her goodnight.

For some reason, she missed the thundering sound of her heartbeat in her ears and the rush of adrenaline in her veins that so often came with the feeling of love.

~ / . / . / ~

The countdown towards their wedding day seemed to hang over her head. First it was eleven months, and then ten, and then eight, and now five. Time seemed to have sped up as they approached the fateful day.

Wedding preparations had already begun; plans of the wedding meal, cake, and table arrangements were slowly being decided. She and Simeon began to prepare their first dance between all the nobles’ court meetings they had.

“My love,” he started one day as they sat underneath the arches of roses before the Azelhart manor, “do you wish for the future to come quicker?”

“Yes,” she replied, “but it has already started to come quicker. There is no need to be impatient, Simeon.”

“Of course. You are always right, my love.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek, but she felt dread stir in her stomach.

It seemed, after that moment, that all he wished to do was dream about their future. She did not mind it much, if she were being honest, but the words he repeated began to trap her heart within herself.

“We will be happy,” he said, smiling, “and live as we wish to.”

“Yes, we will be.” She forced herself to smile back.

And as the days continued to pass, her apprehension continued to grow. Her heart came to despise Simeon’s ramblings of the future.

When they were but children, they had promised each other one thing—that she could be free, and he could live as he wanted. Yet now, it felt as though the very opposite had happened. What was she other than trapped?

Would this torment ever end? She did not know. All she did know was that she was in hell, and there was no escape.

~ / . / . / ~

The small bridge near the graveyard that led to the Obsidians’ headquarters was rarely passed through. People knew better than to go into the Obsidians’ headquarters uninvited, and those of the Obsidians knew better than to reveal their identities as one of the most-feared vigilantes by returning to their base in broad daylight.

Primrose promptly and unceremoniously sat down beneath the bridge, her knees hugged against her chest as she rested her forehead against her arms and closed her eyes, a deep sigh erupting from her lips.

She felt as though she had reached her limit. It seemed that every day, all Simeon wished to talk of was their happiness and coming marriage, and all he wished to do was keep her in his room with him while he wrote and read and pushed away any who attempted to call out to him or Primrose.

Her father had already given him a warning on his behavior, especially when they had a guest over who would be leaving soon, but his warning seemed to do nothing to fix it.

Another sigh escaped her, and she curled into herself. She didn't know anymore. What could she do? Could she even do anything? Or had she destined herself to a lifetime like this, a lifetime of her own desires trapped in her heart as she followed what Simeon said?

“Lady Primrose?”

Her head shot up, though her ears had already recognized the voice that called out to her. Standing just beneath the bridge was Cyrus, a well of concern in his glimmering eyes.

“Lord Cyrus…” she murmured, turning her eyes to the ground next to her feet. “How did you know I was here?”

“When we were children, you often came here,” he answered, and she felt a smile graze her lips.

“Yes… I suppose you are right. I did, did I not?”

“You have stirred up quite a fuss, Lady Primrose. Will you come back to the manor?”

“I… I simply need a moment,” she answered, and then glanced up at him. “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.” Saying that, he sat down beside her.

Silence fell between them, but it was neither tense or awkward. Instead, it felt comforting—even without words, it seemed he would always be the one to save her.

“Did you wish to speak about your troubles?” His voice was gentle. She swallowed.

“That… I wish I could.”

“Yes. My apologies, I overstepped my boundaries.”

“No, it is not so. If I could tell you, I would.”

“I see.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Cyrus pondering on her words. “May I… No, it is of no concern.”

“Lord Cyrus, we are friends. You have all the right to speak freely to me.”

“...If you wish for me to, I shall.”

“Of course I do. I would value your opinion greatly.”

“Lord Corvus’s actions are, I am sure, very discouraging to you. I cannot speak on his behalf as to why he has begun to do such things, other than the love he has for you, Lady Primrose. I cannot offer any advice, other than to remember that he does love you. He loves you, but you may not reciprocate it. And that is perfectly fine.”

Primrose pressed her lips together quickly when she realized they had fallen apart in awe. Never before had someone said such things to her. Simeon… she had always believed she was in love with him. There was nothing more than it, and nothing else. Yet perhaps, perhaps what Cyrus said was right.

“Your love may have gone,” he continued as though he could read her mind, “but we humans are fickle beings. Perhaps you have fallen out of love, and perhaps you never were in love. However, no matter what it is, you must know there is no shame in it.”

She stared at him, and he gave her a tiny smile that seemed to light up her world.

“Come. We should be going, should we not?”

“Yes, you’re right.” She met his gaze. “Thank you, Lord Cyrus,” she murmured, mustering up a smile.

“There is no need for thanks,” he replied as he stood up and offered his hand. She took it and he pulled her up before leading the way back to the Azelhart manor.

As they approached the beautiful arches woven with roses and flowers, Cyrus glanced back at her. Her heart skipped a beat as his gaze met hers.

“Perhaps you should go first.”

She nodded and took the lead, pushing open the large manor doors. The air in the manor felt stuffy; the first time she had ever thought so.

Servants flocked her, but she pushed them away.

“Where are Simeon and my father?” She demanded.

“In the dining hall, my lady.”

Pursing her lips, she made for the dining hall, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Cyrus was following her. He fell into step beside her, taking her hand and squeezing it reassuringly before dropping it. A sense of calm floated over her panicked mind, and she took a deep breath before stepping into the dining hall.

Simeon’s head lifted at the sound of approaching footsteps, and he glanced over his shoulder before starting.

“Primrose!” Simeon cried, nearly leaping out of his seat. Her father followed him. “My love, where were you!? I was so worried, I—”

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” she replied, bowing her head. “I… I merely wished to leave the estate for a little while. To clear my mind.” She glanced up at her father for a split second before bowing her head again. “Father… punish me as you see fit.”

“I will not punish you, Primrose. You are a noblewoman. You ought to know better, but I can sense your remorse in causing us such a fright. You have learned your lesson on your own, my daughter. There is no punishing to be had.”

“Thank you, Father.” She curtsied deeply. He turned to thank Cyrus, and in his absence Simeon approached her.

He cupped her cheeks, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Please… promise me you will never do such a thing again.” His eyes were full of worry.

“I promise,” she murmured, but she felt her heart throb.

This was a promise she had to break.

~ / . / . / ~

The clouds in the sky had already began to darken with signs of oncoming rain when she left her room. She cast a glance at her desk, letting her gaze fall on the ring left behind.

She shut her door and hurried down the stairs. She snuck through the gardens, her heart thundering as she slipped between branches and bushes, approaching the stable in the back corner of the garden.

Cyrus was speaking with the coach’s driver, smiling and nodding. They exchanged a farewell, having agreed upon a time of departure.

As the coach’s driver left the stable and Cyrus prepared to do so as well, she took a deep breath.

Cyrus would leave this afternoon, and with him could go her chance to forever leave behind the man she knew she was not destined for. With him could go the man she knew she loved.

So she stepped out of the garden and into the stable area.

“Lord Cyrus,” she prompted.

Cyrus frowned as he turned around. “Lady Primrose?”

She stepped closer to him, desperation and apprehension sweeping through her veins as she made her plea.

“Please, Lord Cyrus… take me with you. Away from here.”

“Lady Primrose, I cannot in good consciousness take you away from here—”

“Lord Cyrus, please. I beg of you.”

He stared at her before shaking his head. “I must ask you to reconsider. Lord Azelhart has not done you any wrong, nor has Lord Corvus.”

“Perhaps they have not,” Primrose admitted. “My father loves me passionately. Simeon would care for me dearly. But my father… he has always understood my desires, and Simeon never has. But you…”

She watched his eyes shift, flitting between confusion and something so close to joy. Her heartbeat quickened.

“I am asking you now, not as a noble lady, but as a woman. Run away with me, Cyrus.”

“And what of our betrothed?” His voice was low.

“Only those who remain shall know.”

Cyrus’s eyebrows flicked upwards before his lips set into a small smile. “...I see.”

Silence fell between them, laden with tension, and they stood there until the gray clouds above began to rain, sprinkling down gentle sheets of water. He took her hand and pulled her beneath the stable beside the empty carriage.

“Where shall we go?” He asked.

She stared at him before whispering, “Truly?”

“Yes.”

Her other hand found his, squeezing tight. He ran his finger over her knuckles and met her gaze. There was a soft smile on his lips as he traced her finger, void of a ring.

Behind him, rain poured. Thunder roared. Lightning fell. Through it all, she found his hands to be so very warm.

~ / . / . / ~

They both took the carriage that afternoon, riding it into the Western Noblecourt Flats in the gloomy noon and through the storming rain. She snuck into the coach, veiled by the dark magic that Simeon had introduced to her and that Cyrus had helped her learn.

Both wore leather cloaks and commoners’ clothing underneath—taken discreetly from the servants’ stock of laundry. Primrose armed herself with two unmarked daggers taken from Master Revello’s room, and Cyrus held onto his tomes of Ignis Ardere and Glacies Claudere. They were not uncommon tomes, after all. No one would suspect much.

Night fell, and with it came the stars that began to shine above their heads.

Primrose stretched out a hand, dark magic bubbling at her fingertips, and in an instant the coachman fell unconscious. The carriage came to a stop.

She threw open the door and leaped out. Cyrus followed after her, letting her untie the horses from the carriage as he took up the coachman and laid him a few sword-lengths away from the carriage. He looked over at Primrose, who nodded.

Opening his tomes, he closed his eyes as fire swelled in his hands. Tremendously powerful flames began to engulf the carriage, only to be stopped and frozen over. He snapped his fingers to let the ice break away. In the wake of his magic was left a broken carriage.

“Perfect,” Primrose whispered, and offered the reins to him. He took them and watched as she approached the coachman.

Drawing her dagger, she began slashing through his clothes to emulate the wounds of an assault. She cut a hole in his cloak, threw his hat into the crumpled mess that the carriage was. With trembling hands, she slashed a shallow cut along his cheek before stabbing the dagger into the coachman’s sleeve, pinning him to the ground. Her stomach quivered and threatened to empty its contents.

“That should do it.” She forced herself to breathe, standing up. Cyrus had already begun to pull at the saddles of the two carriage horses, adjusting their reins before looking over at her.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“I’m… I’m alright.” She nodded, and he peered at her before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She tensed, and he withdrew his hand. “Did I overstep my boundaries?” He questioned concerningly.

“...No, it is nothing.” She shook her head and let him help her mount one of the horses. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back before letting go and mounting the other horse. “We will head to Flamesgrace first.”

“Alright,” he murmured.

They arrived in Flamesgrace on the fourth day of their journey, the sun rising over the horizon as their mounts’ flanks heaved for breath and they rubbed their sleepy eyes. The journey from Noblecourt to Flamesgrace usually took seven days.

“We should be safe for now,” she murmured. “But we cannot grow complacent.”

Complacency, however, had nothing to do with the voice that called for them the next morning as they left the provisions’ store, the bell tinkling behind them.

“Lady Primrose…?”

Both she and Cyrus whipped around, her shoulders already tensing. There stood the familiar visage of a man she had known since childhood.

“Master Forsythe…” she whispered.

“It is you, my lady! And Lord Albright! You are safe! Have you escaped the bandits?”

“How do you… know of that?” Primrose questioned cautiously.

“Lord Simeon made use of magic in order to send me a message. He requested my presence back in Noblecourt due to your disappearance.”

Revello had been in Stillsnow on behalf of Simeon. And now… he had found them. Perhaps this was what Simeon had planned all along. Perhaps he had always wanted to give her the illusion of freedom, only to tear it away from her.

She glanced at Cyrus, who rested his hand on hers upon seeing the panic in her eyes and slowly nodded. She turned to look at Revello, who was glancing at the two of them with a hint of confusion in his gaze.

“Cyrus and I… we have run away,” she confessed.

Revello stared at them, his eyes wide as they flitted between the two nobles. Primrose moved to stand in front of Cyrus.

“My life is with him now, Master Forsythe. No matter what you say, I will not go back.”

“But—”

“Please, Master Forsythe. Go, and speak not of this to my father or Lord Corvus. This is my final order to you as the heir of the Azelhart family.”

Revello’s gaze drifted between her and Cyrus, indecision clear in his eyes, until he finally paused and spoke.

“...I would ask, then, that you take care of the young lady.” He was staring at Cyrus, his eyes hardened with some indecipherable emotion.

“But of course,” Cyrus replied, and Revello’s shoulders sagged. His gaze softened into the pitiful look of an old man who was loosing someone he so very cared for.

“Then I must keep my end of the bargain. I will tell your father and Lord Corvus… I have lost the trail of the bandits which took you. Please, do what you must to run. Go, Lady Primrose.”

“Thank you,” Primrose breathed.

“May the Flame guide your paths, Lady Primrose, Lord Albright.”

“May it guide yours as well,” Cyrus murmured, and Primrose simply nodded. They watched Revello walk away, blending into the crowd in the snowy city until he was simply a silhouette among many others. Cyrus tightened his hand around hers.

“Come,” he murmured, and she followed him as they made for the stables at the inn. When he helped her mount her horse, she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“...Thank you,” she whispered, “for everything.” He laughed gently.

They rode their horses out to the snowy trails of the Frostlands, stopping occasionally to give their mounts rest or to eat.

“Where should we go now?” She asked as they stood beneath a crowd of snow-coated pine trees, hours east of Flamesgrace.

“Wherever your free-spirited feet wish to take you, Primrose.” Her heart soared at the sound of her name upon his lips.

“Where do you wish to go, Cyrus?”

“Wherever you go. I would follow you to the ends of the world, so long as I have you and my studies.”

“Cyrus—” she shook her head, laughing. “You ought to watch your mouth, lest women begin to fall head over heels for you yet again.”

“I have no need to worry over that. After all, I am bound to you now, am I not?”

And so they began small lives in the woody town of Duskbarrow, living freely as Priscilla Aven and Siegbert Alrin, a couple who ran away from their homes in the bustling city of Saintsbridge after their parents disapproved of their planned union. Primrose took up work as a seamstress by day and a dancer by night, and Cyrus became a scholar and a teacher.

A few weeks later, they held the other’s hands as they promised themselves to each other before the entire village.

“May I proudly present to you, Siegbert and Priscilla Alrin,” the officiant said as a quite cheer rose over the crowd.

She stared at the ring on her finger when they returned to their home. Unlike the last time she had had one on, it did not bring dread and apprehension into her veins. Instead, it brought excitement and joy—and most important of all, it sparked a warm and passionate love.

“Albright,” she murmured. “Primrose Albright.”

“It does not suit you as well as Azelhart does,” Cyrus commented, sitting down on the bed beside her.

“Nonsense. I very much prefer Albright.” She swatted at his arm gently, and he smiled.

Slowly, their pasts became just that—their pasts. The dire search for the heir of the Azelhart family and the royal consort of the princess came to a close four months after they married. Almost eight months later, they received news of Simeon’s engagement to Princess Mary.

“Pair the spares,” Primrose murmured under her breath as she smoothed her skirt out, and Cyrus laughed. She smiled. She loved his laugh.

“Will you be performing at the tavern tonight?”

She shook her head. “I have to work on Alice’s dress. I’m nearly done with it, but the festival is tomorrow and if I go I don’t think I’ll be able to finish.”

“Do you need me to tell Clarine that you won’t be there then?”

“I already told her, don’t worry.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “Alright. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Have fun,” she stated. “Try not to get too distracted by your studies and your drinks to come home.”

“I won’t,” he responded laughingly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As he promised, he did come back. However, as she had anticipated, the door to their house cracked open close to an hour over midnight. She had fallen asleep three hours ago, and awoke to the sound of Cyrus noisily rearranging their closet.

“Can’t you do that later?” She grumbled, and the shuffling of clothes stopped.

A moment later, she felt the mattress dip and she felt blindly for him, wrapping her arms around him. He rested his hand on top of hers.

“You are the worst,” she sighed, and Cyrus laughed in response. The sound rumbled through her bones, and she felt it warm her heart.

“I try, Primrose,” he murmured.

“Well, I'd rather you didn't.” Despite her words, she pressed herself closer into him. He chuckled again and squeezed her hand.

“Go back to sleep, Primrose.”

She hummed, her mind already slipping away into unconsciousness.

Once, she had dreamt of this; holding Cyrus tight as they fell asleep together in a place they could call home. For a long time, she had only had another man, another man who had never truly understood her.

But now, she had someone who knew her, loved her.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“I love you too,” Cyrus replied.

The noblewoman Primrose Azelhart had been lost to the pages of history, but she did not mind. As long as she had Cyrus at her side, she would be happy.


End file.
